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I nodded, hope flaming in my chest.
“Gaina, huh?” With a nostalgic sigh, the king fell back on his throne and smiled longingly. “Yes, I remember Gaina perfectly. One of the best fucks I ever had. Don’t you think, Greggor?”
Snapping his fingers before he received an answer from whomever he was speaking to, however, he added, “Oh, that’s right. She’s one of the few I refused to share with you. Damn, that slut would take it any way I gave it and never complain. It’s too bad my seed took root and she swelled up too big for my taste. I might’ve kept her around longer if she hadn’t gotten—” He paused a moment before squinting at me. “How old did you say you were again?”
I hadn’t said, but I did now. “Eight years, sir.”
The king’s guard instantly smacked me on the back of the head. “Learn your place, bastard whelp. You will address the king as Your Majesty.”
Tears burned my eyes with pain and humiliation. I hadn’t known, I wanted to argue. But I merely gave him a mute nod in understanding.
Meanwhile, the king glowered at his guard. “I don’t recall giving you leave to interrupt my conversation.”
“I-I apologize, Your Majesty. I meant no—”
But the king was already waving at another guard who was positioned against the wall. “You there.” He motioned back to the interrupting knight who’d struck me. “Kill him.”
Without hesitation, the new guard stepped forward, out from the wall, already swinging his battle axe wide. A sharp cry followed and was just as quickly cut short. The sudden silence was followed by a wet thwap as the dead man’s head hit the stone floor and rolled past my feet.
I jerked back, staring at his wide, unseeing eyes and gaping mouth. My breath rushed from my lungs, but I said nothing.
From his padded seat, the king tapped his chin, studying me intently.
“You do bear the Lyker chin and jaw. And your hair color’s right.” Then he paused to look at the corpse slumped at my feet before returning his gaze to my face. “What’s wrong? Haven’t you ever seen a man beheaded before?”
My stomach lurched. Fear coated my veins. I wanted to turn and run. But I remained rooted to the spot, hiding my emotions.
Somehow keeping my eye contact steady with the king, I said, “No, Your Majesty.”
His eyebr
ows lifted as if he were impressed by my reaction. Then he nodded. “You’ve got some mettle in you, don’t you, you little bastard? I like that.” He took a drink from the goblet on his side table, then glanced at his signet ring again. “So what brings you here, mutt of the slut?”
“My mother,” I told him, my heart pounding with fear. “She’s very sick. Dying. I know you once found favor with her, so I came to ask you to bring her here and have her cared for. Maybe cured.”
I knew I was betraying my mother’s order with the request. She’d told me to come here, seeking asylum for myself, not her, but I’d heard that kings and their courts had women and men who bore magic in them. Maybe one of them could save my mother's life.
The king merely laughed, amused. “What’s this you plead? That I bring a sick and dying whore inside my walls to infect my people? Ha! I think not.” His stare moved thoughtfully over me. “You, however,” he purred with a decisive squint. “I think I’ll keep you. You look sturdy and healthy enough, and my heir constantly seeks trouble. He needs a good, solid whipping boy who can take many punishments. You’ll do nicely. Don’t you think he’ll do nicely, Greggor?”
When he glanced toward his left, seeking approval, he scowled at the other man on the dais with him, the one slumped in his own chair paying no attention to us as he was more interested in the naked woman on his lap, bouncing up and down as she gripped his shoulders.
Unlike men getting beheaded right in front of me, seeing open coupling was old news because of where I’d been raised. I’d actually forgotten they were there.
“Greggor!” the king snapped.
“What?” Greggor hissed impatiently, his face finally appearing from around the naked female’s shoulder.
The king repeated his thoughts, and Greggor’s gaze ran over me hastily from head to toe. “I doubt he’ll survive a week,” he reported. “But fine. Whatever you wish. Just let me finish here, will you? You said I could only have her a few minutes before I had to give her back to you, and I’m almost—oh God. Yes. Just like that, pet. Faster now.”
Ignoring them, the king turned back to me and clasped his hands together as if satisfied. “It’s settled, then.” He snapped his fingers at the knight who’d returned to his station against the wall, his axe blade still dripping with fresh blood.
“Take the bastard to the royal stables,” he instructed. “He can earn his keep there until we have use for him here.”
And it turned out, the king had use of Farrow often at the castle. The crown prince, Murdock, was an evil, demented sort who needed punishment regularly. Farrow was lashed on the back for every one of the prince’s misdeeds.
Scenes flashed past me faster, barely giving me time to clearly see them all. Beating after beating. And with each one, the king watched Farrow a little more intently, as if proud of the bastard’s ability to take pain. The boy never dropped a tear, never screamed, never begged for mercy. The king would call him into the great hall whenever important emissaries came to visit to show off just how well his boy could handle torture.
Over the years, the king began to lavish Farrow with favor, sending him to tutors and having him fitted with nice clothes so they could dine together every moon cycle. And so Farrow’s life became torn, a part of him despising his father, repulsed by the soulless, depraved man he was, while the other part desired the king’s respect and attention—and being part of a true family.
